Badly-Drawn Spaghetti
by JillianWatson1058
Summary: John and Mrs. Hudson have cooked up a plan for Sherlock's birthday. Well, it's the thought that counts, right?


Badly-Drawn Spaghetti

At the sound of footsteps running up the stairs, John quickly looked up from the thing he was taking out of the oven. "Is he coming?"

Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room, hand on her hip. "Well, he's not here _yet_, but I just phoned that nice-looking police officer. You know, the one who's always asking Sherlock for help?"

"Lestrade?"

"Yes! That's the one! Well, I told him the situation, and _he_ said that he'd try and keep Sherlock busy with a couple of cold cases he had lying around his office."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you're a _genius._" The doctor grabbed a couple things out of the cupboard and set them on the table, listening intently.

"And, you see, since I was thinking ahead, I asked him how long he thought it would take, and he said about two hours, but it would probably be a lot less than that, since Sherlock's always so fast, you know." She looked around nervously. "Do you think that'll be enough time? Or should I ask Molly to get him some cadavers?"

"We are _not_ letting him have any more cadavers, not if he brings them _home_ again. And I think we'll have plenty of time, as it is. Did you get a chance to buy the things from Tesco?"

"It's all set, dear." She smiled at him, crossing her arms.

Wrapping her in a hug, he asked "What would I do without you?"

"I was wondering the same thing."

"You'd probably have a lot less stress."

She pulled back. "Oh, I wasn't wondering what I'd do without _you_, I was wondering what you'd do without _me_," she winked. Turning to stride out of the room, she offered, "I'll go do some dusting while you're finishing that up. But just this once, dear; I'm not your housekeeper, you know."

Chuckling to himself, John opened up one of the plastic containers. "Not my housekeeper," he muttered. "She's more like my _mother_."

The cake in front of John was a sort of oval shape. Now, what was the best way to do this? Maybe he'd look up a picture and go off of that. Yeah, that could work. Maybe.

After a speed round on google images, John propped his phone on the table and got to work. A spoonful of icing here, a knife smoothing it over there, and little by little the cake was covered in white, but when he dipped his knife in a container of black icing, the process started all over again.

Mrs. Hudson walked into the room to see him holding the knife with as much precision as he would on the operating table, and immediately back out, afraid to interrupt whatever strange cake-frosting trance he was in. He was a bit odd sometimes, but she loved him anyway.

As she put a party hat on the skull ("Why does he keep it around? It's disgraceful!"), John's exultant cry came from the kitchen.

"Yes! Finished it in time!" He sauntered out of the kitchen, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

"Good for you, dear, now help me hang these streamers."

He stepped up onto the sofa in order to reach the ceiling (it's not like the poor piece of furniture hadn't taken a beating before) and tacked one end of the streamer into the wallpaper. What was one more hole, anyway? Streamer after streamer made its way to the walls or the ceiling of 221b, and balloons soon littered the floor.

Just as John crossed his arms to survey his work, the sound of the front door opening broke the productive silence in the flat. "Showtime!" He grinned.

"Really, Lestrade," Sherlock's voice came floating not so gently up the stairwell, "I don't see why those stayed on your shelf for so long; they were childishly simple. The fireplace was _clearly_ the only point of entry."

"Well, cold cases aren't usually a priority, and some of us have better things to do than having target practice indoors."

The voices grew louder, and the footsteps drew closer, until they slowed to a creaking halt just outside the door. John wondered if he left any evidence outside the door. "It smells like… cake… and….Oh, dear. John, you didn't decorate for my birthday, did you?" He stepped inside the door. "Yep." He rolled his eyes. "Thought so."

"Happy birthday, Sherlock!" John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade yelled in unison, undeterred.

"You know I don't need-"

"Oh, shut up, Sherlock. I made you a cake!"

"That sounds promising." Sherlock smirked slightly, watching John sprint to the kitchen.

"Tada! Thought you'd appreciate it!" He smiled, clearly proud of the effort that went into it.

"Judging by the oval shape and multitude of lines, I'd guess you were trying to make it look like a fingerprint?"

"Judging by? _Guessing?_ You don't have to _guess_, it's beautiful!"

"It looks like a two-year-old's drawing of spaghetti."

"Well, fingerprints _look_ like badly-drawn spaghetti!"

"No, they're a combination of minute loops, whorls, and arches."

"Which sounds a _whole lot_ like what a plate of spaghetti looks like, just saying. Anyway, will you cut the cake, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Sure thing, let me just grab a knife." She hurried off to the kitchen.

"I hope it tastes better than it looks."

"Oh, it'll taste good. I cook even better than I write," he smirked.

"That doesn't say much."

"Sherlock," Lestrade crossed his arms, "would you just shut up and wait for your cake? He's being _nice_, for goodness sake!"

"I can't let him continue with his flawed idea of what a fingerprint is! Or his flawed idea of writing, while we're on the topic."

"Yeah," John cut in, "the flat's not big enough for two big heads. His barely fits as it is." Both he and Lestrade started chuckling.

"Well, I can't help it if you all prefer to wallow in your ignorance…"

"_I'd _prefer to wallow in cake," said the DI, as Mrs. Hudson dished out several pieces.

"That can be arranged." Sherlock grabbed a piece off the table, digging in with his fork almost immediately.

Seeing the detective trying in vain to hide his expression of delight, John elbowed him. "Not so bad, is it?"

"It could be better."

"I'd like to see _you_ bake a cake that tastes that good!"

"Maybe I will."

"No you won't."

The detective chose to ignore this, instead opting to take another large bite of birthday cake.

**JWJWJW**

**And yes, I do realize that Sherlock's birthday is January 6, but it's MY Holmes's birthday today. I love you, dear! I hope your 22****nd**** year is just as awesome as the first 21! I couldn't ask for a better sister. Who else would obsess over TV shows and books and go on walks and go to comic con with me? 3**

**For those of you who DON'T happen to be related to me:**

**Feel free to comment; I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

**Also, I'm sorry Quantum Entanglement is taking so long (if anyone's waiting), but life has been insane with school and work. I'm trying my best.**

**You're all awesome. Thanks for reading.**

**~JillianWatson1058**


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